


The Hunt

by monobuu



Series: The Hunt [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Faeries - Freeform, M/M, Sexy Times, Supernatural Elements, but NOT the fun kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7434017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monobuu/pseuds/monobuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an effort to escape the worst party ever, Arthur accidentally comes face to face with some of the more wicked denizens of Faerie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

Arthur tried to tell himself he was out in the gardens of his father's country manor to get some fresh air, to appreciate the full moon and stars on a near cloudless night and not because he was playing the part of a spurned lover. He certainly wasn't out here because he'd been left rather abruptly by a perverted frog he probably shouldn't have been sleeping with in the first place, for a skimpy little strumpet with a feathered hat, no less.   
  
Aurthur kicked his foot into the dirt path he was on and scowled, puffing out a breath of air in resignation. He had never been good at lying, especially not to himself, and he really couldn't keep up the facade of cool apathy when he was thrown into a court gathering with the git not two days after it had happened. His father was holding a masquerade ball in honor of All Hallows Eve, but even the elaborately decorated masks couldn't hide Francis from his view.   
  
Arthur would like to believe that it had ended because they didn't suit each other, or they'd had an argument, or maybe because one of them had finally been engaged to whichever house their fathers thought most advantageous. But the truth of the matter was that Arthur had been abandoned for the newest piece of ass in the royal court. She was soft curves covered in silk, edged in frills, with just enough skin showing to cause a stir, but not enough to be scandalous. She had a name, he was sure, but he couldn't be assed to remember it. All he knew was that she sported an impressive figure _(read: rack)_ and Francis apparently went for that type of thing _(which didn't say much of what he saw in Arthur)._  
  
In the end, Arthur was a noble disappointment who couldn't even manage to keep the affections of a French bastard and he had absolutely no interest in playing nice with him or his new trollop at his father's party, manners be damned. He didn't usually indulge in self pity, but he felt this was perhaps one of those times when it might be okay. After all, he'd been assaulted by a nobleman's daughter seemingly set on winning his affections not five minutes prior, as if contending with a broken heart wasn't bad enough. He'd never been a particularly enthusiastic fan of court life and the endless intrigue that came with it. Thus, his escape to the garden in search of a little peace and quiet, away from the drama of court and all its implications.  
  
He rarely visited this particular manor, one in a handful of estates his father owned, spending most of his time in the city, but he enjoyed the vast gardens that, if he went far enough, led out into his family's hunting grounds. Arthur could still hear the voices and music that floated out from the house and so went further and further until finally it was just him and the surrounding forest. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air of the countryside and enjoying the cool of the night as it brushed against his heated skin.  
  
When he opened them, he was nearly scared shitless by a frantic looking pixie hovering before him, wings fluttering rapidly in agitation. While seeing mythical beings was no rarity with Arthur _(and boy would he get teased for that if anyone in the court found out)_ the abrupt appearance of the thing nearly sent him tumbling to his ass.  
  
“What-” he started, but was interrupted abruptly.  
  
“Arthur, what do ye do?!” the pixie asked in a tone of voice broaching on a panicked screech.  
  
“Well, I wasn't really enjoying the masquerade, so...” Arthur began, voice pitched low with a hint of embarrassment.   
  
“Do ye ken what day it is?” she asked then, flitting back and forth in sharp movements.  
  
“Yes,” Arthur said in slight confusion. “Hallows Eve.”  
  
“Aye!” the pixie shouted. “Samhain! So I ask ye again, what do ye do here? Do ye no' ken this is one of his majesty's most favored hunting ground?”  
  
Arthur frowned. He was fairly certain the king had many other hunting grounds that were much grander, more accessible and all around better than his father's country manor. He was skeptical on whether or not the king had actually been out here. Ever.  
  
“I think you might be mistaken,” Arthur said slowly, unsure.  
  
“Nay!” the pixie screamed in her high voice, flitting up into the night sky before plummeting back down to face him. “He comes!”  
  
“Who?” Arthur asked, beginning to worry at the state the pixie was in.  
  
“Hunter!” she wailed, flitting about his person before finally darting beneath the frills of his costume's coat.  
  
Before Arthur had a chance to ask her meaning or dig her out of the many frills his pirate costume contained, he heard the screeching sound of trees being ripped apart as something large came barreling through the forest toward him. He took a step back hesitantly, fearing what would burst from the trees but unable to calm his mind enough to tell his body to run. He could hear the pixie within his coat wailing in terror but it was soon drowned out by the violent sound of foliage being torn aside as the lumbering form of something Arthur did not recognize came tumbling into the tiny clearing he stood in.  
  
Arthur's experience with magical beings was somewhat limited, he imagined. At his home in the city, he had a couple fairies, a unicorn and a small creature who didn't have a classification yet because Arthur was too afraid of incurring his temper by asking. They came by often, and there were a few others who stopped by every now and then to greet him; a little green bunny with wings, a sleek fox spirit who never spoke, and the occasional dwarf. All of these creatures, with the exception of the small thing with the violent temper, were friendly with him and fairly harmless anyways.  
  
But Arthur had never seen anything that resembled what stood before him now.  
  
It was short, but blocky with thick muscles, it's face twisted into something gruesome by tusks that curled on either side of its mouth. It's skin was a dark and dusky purple, mottled all over with defects, pockmarks and patches of thick hair. It looked altogether unpleasant and its beady black eyes spotted Arthur at once, a gruesome and thoroughly predatory smile spreading across the thing's face.  
  
That was when he decided that his life probably wouldn't last much longer than this one, depressing night.   
  
The thing carried in its hand a crude cudgel that Arthur was certain would destroy him if the thing decided to use it. But as Arthur was preparing to fight with what little skill he had, the thing turned its head abruptly and let out a fearsome and terrifyingly loud growl at something that Arthur could not see.  
  
“Oh god,” Arthur murmured in fear, taking another step back. Was there something else coming? Something worse? That would be just his luck.  
  
Just as he finished the thought, something else burst through the tree line, rushing the purple creature in a blur of motion and violence. He heard a sharp scream of pain and then the scene before him halted, as if time had stopped, and Arthur felt his fear and horror growing as he took it in.  
  
The new creature was human, or at least human looking, with shockingly blond hair and blazing blue eyes that shone with excitement and intent to do violence. He had a sword, which had been stabbed through the shoulder of the shorter creature, and Arthur could see blood splattered across his clothes. His mouth was twisted into a feral grin and Arthur could tell he held a strength unlike any he'd ever seen.  
  
The moment passed and time sped up as the man barked out a wicked laugh before gripping the other creature's shoulder. The creature screamed in panic and Arthur watched as the man ignored the cries, pulling the thing's shoulder one way and his sword, still embedded in flesh, the other, effectively ripping a gaping hole across the thing's upper body. Blood sprayed out of the wound and the man flung the limp creature into the trees in an almost negligent motion.  
  
Arthur's body seemed to decide now was the time to move as the thing before him – which couldn't possibly be a man, not with that strength – turned his gaze toward him, grin flitting across his face as his eyes lit on his next prey. He was fast, though, and Arthur got a meager two feet before he felt his body slammed into the ground beneath him. He coughed out dirt and leaves as he was roughly turned over.  
  
“Human,” the thing above him whispered in a delighted hiss as it swung a leg over him to close the distance.  
  
“P-please,” Arthur pleaded, realizing that this must have been the hunter the pixie had spoken of, not the creature that had just met a gruesome fate. “Don't k-kill me.”  
  
The hunter threw back his head and let out a bellow of laughter before returning his gaze to Arthur, eyes alight with curious excitement. “You are in the wrong place at the wrong time, human.”  
  
Arthur couldn't agree more himself and allowed a tiny flame of hope to take light in his chest. Maybe this creature – who really did look like a man, who was he to judge? - would be so kind as to...  
  
“But I can't be letting you go just now,” the thing said.  
  
The flame flickered and died.  
  
The pixie that had been hiding within his coat sprang out and into the face of the man looming over him and smacked him in the face with as much strength as her tiny body could manage. The blue eyed hunter snapped his hand out and caught her, glaring at her and idly sitting on the struggling Arthur to keep him from moving as he turned his attention to the small pixie.  
  
“Dinna ye lay a finger on him!” she screamed in her tiny voice. “He be naught but a bairn and ye have no-”  
  
“He does no' look like a bairn to me,” the thing said with a smirk, voice mimicking the pixie's thick accent as his eyes gave Arthur a thorough sweep before turning back to the pixie.   
  
“He is naught but-”  
  
“Aye, aye, I heard ye!” the hunter said, shaking the pixie into silence before tossing her to the side. She immediately rushed to hover in the general vicinity of Arthur's head. The hunter turned a thoughtful eye on Arthur and he squirmed under the scrutiny.   
  
“You have the little ones' favor,” he commented and Arthur thought that perhaps he heard a hint of respect leak into his tone.  
  
“Odd,” was all he said before whipping his head in the direction he had originally come from. He raised his face slightly, then turned back to Arthur and grinned before shoving his head into the junction of Arthur's neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and slowly. He raised his head just enough to look Arthur in the eye.  
  
“But intriguing,” he whispered through a grin. Then he raised himself off Arthur and held out a hand as if to offer help. “Come,” he said, that rough grin still splitting his face. “Let us see if you're strong enough.”  
  
“Strong enough for what?” Arthur asked hesitantly, staying where he was out of fear. The little pixie who had stood up for him flitted nervously off to the side.  
  
The hunter bent down and grabbed his arm, hauling Arthur to his feet with little effort before pulling him close. “The Hunt,” he whispered ominously.   
  
The hunter turned his head and abruptly let out a loud, ear-splitting whistle. Arthur cowered in his grip as he heard the thunderous sound of something else making its violent way through the forest. Then he watched in awe as a horse so black he was sure light had never touched it burst through the trees, rearing wildly before settling in front of them. The thing was huge, larger than any horse he'd ever seen and his cousin owned stables known for their warhorses. And it had red eyes. Gleaming, terrifying red eyes.  
  
The hunter grabbed onto a saddle that was equally as black and hauled himself into the seat. Arthur backed away when he held out his hand once more, expectant eyes watching him fidget where he stood.  
  
“Come,” he demanded.  
  
Arthur shook his head. “I don't know what's going on, but-”  
  
Once again the hunter reached down and hauled on his arm, this time hard enough that Arthur thought it would come clear out of its socket, and placed him in the saddle before him, but facing entirely the wrong way. Arthur frowned and his mysteriously absent backbone seemed to reconnect with his mouth as he fought down a blush to glare at the creature in front of him.   
  
“Put me down!” he yelled. “Who the hell do you think you are?”  
  
“Do you know what tonight is?” the hunter asked, ignoring Arthur's question.  
  
Arthur wondered if it was some sort of fairy party tonight and almost answered 'Hallows Eve' before he remembered what the pixie had called it. “Samhain.”  
  
“Yes,” the hunter nearly purred at him, clearly pleased. “And tonight we hunt.”  
  
“Hunt?” Arthur echoed. “What is-”  
  
“The Wild Hunt of the Erlking, High Sidhe of the Wyldfae.”  
  
Arthur understood maybe half of what the man had just said, and that was being generous, and it probably showed on his face, judging from the hunter's sudden bark of laughter.  
  
“The Hunt, my dear human,” the creature said, nuzzling Arthur's neck and Arthur tried to flinch away, with little success. “Anything caught in the Hunt is killed,” the hunter sighed and turned further into Arthur's neck, rolling his hips in a way that could only be sexual. “With pleasure...” he sung in a low, lustful tone and Arthur would have been outraged and embarrassed if it hadn't felt so good.  
  
But Arthur began to shake as his mind focused again. He was going to be killed?   
  
“But fear not,” the hunter said, pulling back. “I have grown fond of you and will thus let you participate.”  
  
“P-p-p-” Arthur tried to articulate. The pixie, who had been flitting about beside them finally decided to speak up.  
  
“The hunted must become the hunter,” she wailed in distress. “Ye have been caught, there is naught else to be done!”  
  
Arthur was confused, but the hunter tugged on the reigns of his horse in impatience and the beast danced in response. “I am called Alfred,” he said, eyebrow raised, grin firmly in place.  
  
Arthur barely had enough time to get out his own name before Alfred kicked his horse into a canter. Arthur suppressed his urge to hang on for dear life at the sudden movement, as the only thing to hold onto was Alfred and Arthur was gong to be stubborn and contrary for as long as he could.  
  
“I'm facing the wrong way,” he grumbled, glaring at the man in front of him as he tried very hard to keep some sort of balance. Alfred grinned down at him.  
  
“No you're not,” he said lightly. Then, “Hang on!”   
  
He kicked the horse into a dangerous gallop through the trees and Arthur immediately latched onto Alfred's chest like a koala bear, forgetting his previous determination not to. Pressed against the man's chest as he was, he could feel as well as hear his loud and giddy laughter and as Arthur glanced to the one side his tight embrace would allow him to see, he noticed more and more people and creatures joining in Alfred's reckless charge, some on horses, some on foot. His eyes widened as he saw some of the riders branch off, others bend down to grab something, some unfortunate creature that was caught in their headlong run and all but rip it apart. He felt a deranged giggle build in his own throat as the scenery blurred and he felt a dull sort of excitement pooling in the base of his stomach, working up through his chest and making his breaths come in shaky pants as his surroundings were slowly laced with vivid color.  
  
He bounced against Alfred, trying to calm the sensation.  
  
“Can you feel it, Arthur?” Alfred asked, and his name on the man's tongue sounded like a purr, rumbling from Alfred's chest through Arthur's own, and the shorter man tightened his grip as he tilted his head back and to the side, trying to get a look at Alfred's face.   
  
He felt the man take a deep breath and let it out in an excited exhale before looking down. “Get ready, Arthur.”  
  
Arthur really wished the man would stop saying his name like that, it sent a bolt of something straight through his gut. “Ready for what?” Arthur asked shakily. “What are you?”  
  
Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Questions later,” he said, then kicked his horse, making it go even faster, if that was even possible. “Now we hunt.”  
  
Alfred pulled his horse up next to another that was as large as his, if not larger. Atop the saddle rode a creature as large as the horse, dressed in clothing as black as night. Arthur could not tell what his face looked like, found himself unable to take in any distinctive features other than the vicious grin that was spread across the creature's face, which was frighteningly reminiscent of the one Alfred had been wearing. Out of the creature's head sprung and impressively dangerous set of antlers, curved to vicious points. Colors blurred again and the rest of his attention was then taken up by the thrill of an unknown feeling as it went straight up his spine, making him arch against Alfred.  
  
“That's it,” Alfred encouraged, leaning into him. “Let it run through your blood.”  
  
Arthur's breath began to get choppy and his vision narrowed as a sudden urge for violence went through him. It was a heady emotion that Arthur was entirely unused to feeling, the rich court life he had inherited with his name not exactly overflowing with this sort of mayhem. He felt like his chest was about to burst with the heat running through it, shook his head and grimaced as he buried his face in Alfred's neck.  
  
“What is this?” he breathed, one hand clutching his own shirt while the other held onto the man in front of him desperately. The sensation unnerved him, made his breaths start to shake in panic.  
  
“Embrace it,” Alfred told him. “We are upon them.”  
  
Suddenly Alfred pulled on the horse's reins, stopping them in an abrupt and jerky movement that sent Arthur slamming into Alfred's chest. Before he could gain back what little of his senses that were left, Alfred bent down and met his lips, devouring Arthur in a quick but heated kiss before pulling back just enough to whisper against them.   
  
“Show me what you can do,” he said and Arthur was confused for only a moment before Alfred's arm wrapped around his waist and they were both descending, hitting the ground in what Arthur could only recognize as chaos.  
  
There were creatures everywhere, ugly and violent as they scrambled about with swords and cudgels, brandishing them against the hunters they had been riding with just a moment ago. Alfred had drawn his sword and was spinning, Arthur tucked into his side as his arm extended in a graceful arc to plunge the blade deep into a small creature's chest. The thing screamed and while the scene might usually have disgusted and scared Arthur, he was shocked when he felt a distinct shiver of pleasure run up his spine, creating a low and pleasant hum in the back of his mind as he took in the scene before him. Alfred spun again, sword coming up to slice through another creature, much like the first Arthur had encountered that night, only bigger, who was flying through the air at him, a sword much like Alfred's own in his chubby and mis-jointed hands.  
  
Alfred cut through the thing without any sort of noticeable effort, let go of Arthur to grab the sword the thing had dropped and offered it to Arthur with a feral grin. Arthur took the handle and felt it weigh his arm down with its heft, looking up to find Alfred already spinning to take out another creature. Arthur could feel that excited thrum still buzzing through his entire body, running up and down his spine, his arms and legs twitching in anticipation as the urge to _move_ became nearly overwhelming. But a tiny part of his mind had not given in to these feral emotions and it screamed at him, nearly splitting his head in two as it demanded Arthur stop, that this was madness.   
  
All around him, creatures fell, the hunters cutting them down with absolutely no hesitation. Arthur almost fell to his knees from the overwhelming contradiction of emotions running through him and he barely managed to raise his sword in time to block the blow of one of the stout creatures. He was pushed back a step as he struggled to defend, wanting desperately to cut the thing down and yet unsure, the heat in his chest sparking in intensity as he shook his head, trying to put the emotions in some semblance of order. The creature attacked again and this time Arthur was too slow, the blow catching him in the arm as he turned to avoid it. Pain flared down his arm and into his shoulder as he staggered away.  
  
As the creature turned to charge him again, Arthur felt an arm wrap around his waist, tugging him to the side as a sword came around to strike the creature down in mid-flight. Arthur was stunned for only a moment, then latched on to the sound of Alfred's voice.  
  
“Hateful creatures, they are,” Alfred growled. “They attack human children.”  
  
Arthur's eyes narrowed and that small voice of reason that had been shouting at him suddenly shrank into near absolute silence. Alfred shook him roughly and Arthur staggered as he was let go abruptly, turning his glare up at Alfred. He was about to snap off a retort but the look on Alfred's face shut him up.  
  
“Do not disappoint me again,” he said lowly.  
  
Arthur felt that heavy heat from before pool low in his stomach at the sound of Alfred's voice, the thrill of the hunt dominating any inclination he might have had to run and completely drowning out the voice that had been keeping a cap on his emotions before. For a heated moment, Arthur wished fervently that Alfred would kiss him again, right there in the middle of all the blood and mayhem, then he was spinning away from the man as another creature came at him, his arm flinging the sword out in an effective sweep he'd learned in the years of sword lessons his father had forced on him.   
  
Arthur was by no means as good as Alfred, but he was determined not to disappoint the man by needing to be saved again and he wielded his sword well enough to cut through the horde of creature's that ran at him. Most of them wielded nothing but their own claws and teeth, razor sharp and just as effective as any blade, and it threw Arthur off for long moments, used to fighting an opponent armed with a sword like him. But his training had included more than just practice with swords and he soon learned to effectively combine both his skill with the blade and close combat to cut through creature after ugly, snarling creature.  
  
By some odd communication, the other hunters knew him for a comrade and did not attempt to attack him, and although Arthur did not understand it himself, he knew who fought and who fled, who would give him a violent grin and who he could take his sword to. He spun about the clearing they'd stopped in, almost forgetting entirely about Alfred as the excitement built in his chest, a steady burn of an emotion he found invigorating. His breathing was ragged with the effort of fighting and the exhilaration of the kill, and his lungs were pleasurably tight with anticipation as he worked his way further and further through the forest.  
  
A blur of yellow flashed by him and he turned, caught a glimpse of Alfred before he finished off the creature in front of him and realized how far he'd veered from the spot of origin. He turned around, searching for more creatures. What he found was a bloodied Alfred standing a few feet away, regarding him with such a look of hunger in his eyes Arthur was momentarily unsure if he should run or not. Then Alfred was on him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, head buried in Arthur's neck as his tongue traced a slow line from shoulder to ear. Arthur dropped his sword, uncaring of where it landed as his excitement for violence from before slipped seamlessly into an overwhelming need to feel Alfred pressed against him. His hands came up to bury themselves in Alfred's hair, forcing Alfred's mouth to meet his in a heated kiss.   
  
Arthur vaguely registered that the other members of the hunt had moved on, mounting their horses and chasing their prey through the forest, away from the clearing they had started in. He followed Alfred's mouth as he pulled away and almost whined in protest when Alfred straightened and looked around, letting out an ear-piercing whistle. Arthur snuck his hands around Alfred's waist and rolled his hips into Alfred's, unwilling to let the man's interest wander. Alfred grunted and flashed him a resigned look of frustration, lips curving softly so that Arthur just pulled back and drank him in before being abruptly thrown over Alfred's shoulder.  
  
And if Arthur had had the presence of mind to do so, he would have complained bitterly as Alfred took off at a fast pace through the trees. As it were, however, he was much too engrossed in the sight of Alfred's ass.  
  
He almost complained at the loss when he was set back on his feet, but his attention was soon taken up by Alfred's mouth, hot on his own, as he was pushed down to the ground. It was hard under his back and Arthur found himself wondering what the point in Alfred moving them was when he hadn't picked a spot halfway comfortable. Then Alfred moved his mouth down Arthur's neck in a series of wet kisses and Arthur took a deep breath as he arched, taking in the first breath of fresh air since the start of the hunt. It was almost euphoric in itself, tasting air that was not tainted by the smell of blood and rot, and Arthur grabbed at Alfred's hips as another surge of heat took hold of him, thrusting up into the body above him.   
  
Alfred growled, bit his neck and leaned back, his eyes going half mast as he just looked at Arthur. Arthur was impatient, though, heated as he was, and perhaps it had something to do with the repression of the past few days or the vortex of heightened emotion he'd been pulled into, but he wanted Alfred, and he wanted him _now._  
  
Arthur tugged Alfred's shirt out of his breeches quickly, hands immediately seeking skin as he watched pleasure contort Alfred's face into a grimace. His fingers found the man's nipples and he brushed them roughly with his fingertips, dragging his thumb across one with deliberate force as he bucked his hips once more. Alfred seemed to snap out of whatever idle stasis he'd been in, bending down to give Arthur a quick, rough kiss before working Arthur's coat off his shoulders and his shirt over his head. He tossed the shirt to the side and his mouth descended on Arthur's bare chest, catching a nipple between his teeth and working it roughly as Arthur arched to the sensation.   
  
Alfred's fingers were working on Arthur's pants, tugging at the laces with quick jerks before roughly sliding them down slim hips, freeing Arthur's already dripping erection to the cooling night air. Arthur twisted in need as Alfred palmed his cock and, having lost the coordination and mindset needed to actually remove Alfred's shirt the correct way, began pulling at it viciously in an attempt to just rip it off. Alfred was still playing havoc with his nipples, but pulled back so that he could yank the constricting cloth over his head before returning his mouth to Arthur's neck.  
  
Alfred's hand suddenly stopped its pleasurable grinding against Arthur's cock and he nearly sobbed at the loss, slamming his head back into the ground beneath him as he arched, desperately trying to achieve some sort of contact.   
  
“Alfred,” he called weakly, forcing his eyes open to watch as the man pulled back, undoing the lacing on his pants with jerky movements before shoving them down his hips.  
  
Arthur took a deep breath and propped himself up on his elbows, allowing himself to drink in the sight of Alfred, the muscles that fanned out on either side of his torso, the light dusting of hair that started at his navel and traced a path down to his sex, the strong hips that framed his cock, as he finally rid himself of his pants and knelt before Arthur completely naked.   
  
Arthur licked his lips and felt a light blush spread across his cheeks at the leer Alfred gave him, at how wanton he felt as he let Alfred push his knees apart. Arthur let out a harsh exhale and pushed himself up on his hands, bringing his face within inches of Alfred's cock. He let out a shaky breath, breathing warmth over Alfred's member and raising his eyes to watch the man's face as his tongue darted out to lick a slow line from base to tip.  
  
He watched as Alfred's head fell back and a groan escaped his lips, Alfred's hand coming up to grasp the back of Arthur's head in encouragement. Arthur turned his gaze to the task at hand and brought his hand up to cup Alfred's balls as he took the tip into his mouth, sucking wickedly at the head and running his tongue across the slit before sliding his mouth further down. He ran his tongue up and down Alfred's length, paying particular attention to the head when he reached the tip, before slowly sinking back down, taking as much of Alfred into his mouth as he could.  
  
Alfred let Arthur work him for a few long moments before tugging at his hair, pulling Arthur away from his slicked cock and bending down to meet his mouth. Arthur's hands raised to grab at Alfred's hips as their tongues twisted against one another, as Alfred guided him back down to the ground and settled between his legs. Arthur ripped his mouth away, inhaling sharply at the feeling of Alfred's weight pressed against him, at the wet slide of skin as their erections came together in a heated grinding of hips. Arthur heard Alfred grunt above him, opened his eyes to see Alfred watching him with a lustful gaze and a half formed smirk, breathing choppy as he ground down against him.   
  
“Arthur,” Alfred growled, dragging out a particularly slow thrust as he bent down, lips brushing Arthur's. “I'm going to fuck you.”  
  
Arthur closed his eyes as a shiver rocketed down his spine to ignite the heat pooled in his stomach, fingers pulling at Alfred's skin.  
  
“Yes,” he moaned, thrusting up into Alfred's stomach. He felt Alfred move away, then opened his eyes when something nudged his lips. He took Alfred's fingers into his mouth, watching as Alfred's expression immediately shuttered into a look of raw hunger as he sucked viciously. Alfred removed them after a moment, wet with saliva, and took Arthur's mouth with his own as they trailed down his side and over his hip to find Arthur's entrance. As Arthur plunged his hands into Alfred's hair, he lifted his hips to help, nearly choking as the first finger entered him, moving in slow motions until it was tragically _not enough._  
  
Arthur tore his mouth away from wet warmth and whispered a raw, “Alfred, please.”  
  
Then he arched his back as Alfred complied, adding another finger and making Arthur moan as he moved them, mouth trailing a line across the smaller man's chest. After another moment, Arthur felt a third finger enter him and it didn't take long for him to adjust, squirming as Alfred reached for that spot and nearly screaming when the fingers abruptly left him.  
  
Arthur panted, opening his eyes marginally to watch as a look of concentration flitted across Alfred's face as he positioned himself. He could have sworn he saw the man's tongue stick out the side of his mouth for a brief moment, but in the time it took for Arthur's foggy mind to connect that somewhat endearing gesture to the man above him, it was gone. Alfred looked at Arthur then, grinned wickedly and planted his hands on either side of Arthur's body as he bent low to exhale slowly. Arthur could feel the tip of Alfred's erection nudging his entrance and he wove his hands up and around Alfred's neck to give him an impatient look.  
  
After a quick bark of laughter, Alfred moved, slowly sliding himself into Arthur as the smaller man's head fell back, wincing as he felt Alfred slide in to the hilt and stop. Arthur panted for a few moments, adjusting, then arched his hips into Alfred's, urging him to continue, impatience running like a fire through his veins. Alfred licked up Arthur's neck again, kissing the side of his mouth before taking his lips in a forceful kiss as he began to move. Arthur let out a ragged moan of appreciation when Alfred waisted no time in setting a fast pace, thrusting into Arthur with wild abandon as he took hold of Arthur's neglected cock, stroking him even as Arthur rose to meet Alfred's pounding rhythm.   
  
Arthur could feel the heat begin to overflow, could feel the excitement of the hunt earlier, the thrill of Alfred's attention and approval, the fire and building anticipation of the kill, all melting together, engulfing him in a searing heat the pounded through his blood to the rhythm of Alfred's movements. He'd never felt this overwhelmed before and released his hold on Alfred's neck to throw his arms up over his face as he arched into Alfred with each thrust, striving for that peak that he could feel was so close, feeling like he'd be ripped apart from the inside if he did not reach it.  
  
Alfred gave Arthur's cock one last long tug before sliding that hand around his side and to the small of his back, lifting his hips and changing the angle. Arthur cried out as Alfred hit that spot inside him, sending pleasure spiking through him as his arms left his face and tried in vain to find some purchase on the ground beneath him. The heat in his center, raw and powerful and overwhelming, was beginning to brim and Arthur was sure if Alfred hit that spot just once more, he would shatter.  
  
“Al-Alfred!” Arthur sobbed, stiffening as he reached his peak, the warmth of his climax spreading out over his stomach as he felt Alfred's thrusts quicken at the periphery of his perception.  
  
Alfred grunted and half of Arthur's name got past his lips before it turned into a hiss of pleasure as he stilled above him, hips jerking minutely as he rode through his orgasm. His hand left Arthur's back, came around to grab at Arthur's still spurting cock and give it a few long pulls, sending Arthur, already descending into a haze of bliss, into near oblivion at the sensation of being milked for all he was worth.  
  
Alfred panted as his breathing slowed, pulling out of Arthur before all but falling on top of him. Arthur managed to get his arms up in time to divert his fall, tipping him so that Alfred only landed halfway on top of him. Arthur would have found it incredibly amusing, and perhaps a little flattering, if he weren't so focused on getting his ragged breathing under control and calming his racing heart which thudded painfully in his chest despite his utter exhaustion. All of the energy and excitement from before, the raw passion that had been coursing through him for the entire night since meeting Alfred, had seemed to leave his body in one big rush as he'd climaxed, and he'd never felt so completely sated in his entire life.   
  
Arthur could feel sleep descending; feared and at the same time _welcomed_ the catatonic darkness that was crowding his senses. His arm reached over his chest, landing on the warm skin of Alfred's arm and gripping weakly. Arthur felt Alfred shift, tug him further into his chest as warm breath puffed at his neck, and then Arthur finally lost his battle with wakefulness.   
  
x o x  
  
Arthur's mind was still half asleep when he opened his eyes the next morning. His surroundings were bleary, but the one thing that stood out in his foggy mind was all the _green._ He closed his eyes again, feeling a dull ache beginning to pound at the back of his head as he began to realize his body was exhaustingly and painfully sore. He wished he could sink back into the nothingness of deep sleep but he doubted he'd be able to accomplish such a feat when he felt like this, like he'd been trampled by his horse a couple times before being thrown on a pile of rocks for the night. He managed to open his eyes again, rolling over and using his arms to shakily push himself up into a sitting position. He blinked several times, trying in vain to calm the pounding in his head by being still before slowly taking in his situation.  
  
He was alone, that much was readily apparent, and completely naked. The cool morning air felt good on his heated skin but he knew that soon enough it would become too chill for his liking and so he tried to find where his clothes had gone off to. His breeches were nearby, though torn a bit, and he put them on with as little possible movement as he could manage, still trying not to aggravate his head as much as could be accomplished. His boots were next, though he had to actually move a couple steps in the direction of a traumatized looking bush to find them. He began lacing them up, his fingers tugging at the criss-crossing laces with as much precision as his trembling fingers could manage.   
  
He figured he should be proud that he'd gotten through half of the second boot before the tears started falling.  
  
Arthur's memory was fragmented and blurred, but he remembered the important parts with startling clarity. He had killed and he had been used in the aftermath; beyond that, he was almost glad he couldn't put the pieces together. What was truly heart wrenching was not that he had done those horrible things, though the pain was there and real and almost overwhelming. The worst part was that he had no idea what had compelled him to do it.   
  
Arthur would admit to himself that his tryst with Alfred was likely a result of his recent heartbreak and abandonment, and that he really only had himself to blame for sleeping with someone he'd just met. Not to mention someone who wasn't even _human_. It was stupid of him, and he knew it, to expect the man to stay when Arthur had been so easy. But despite understanding this, Arthur couldn't help but feel a deep ache, much deeper than that left by Francis, that tore at him every moment he allowed himself to remember Alfred's touch.   
  
And wasn't he the worst kind of man ever, to be in more anguish over Alfred than all the lives he'd taken?  
  
He tilted his head back slowly, looking into the clouded morning sky and letting the tears run down his cheeks. This overwhelming sense of devastation, though reasonable and valid, was not going to get him anywhere. He had made a poor decision which had led to ruin, but he could gather the pieces and put them back into some semblance of order and move on with his life. He could.   
  
That didn't mean he couldn't cry his heart out as he gathered the fortitude to do so, however.  
  
His shirt and coat were found near each other, lying in a crumpled heap near the far side of the clearing he'd awoken in. He donned his shirt quickly, trying to avoid the cut on his arm and at the same time condemning himself to suffer through his pounding headache no matter what efforts he made to sooth it. When he picked up his coat, though, something small fell onto the ground. It was some sort of bottle, a little crude in the making and containing some sort of brown liquid. With tear tracks still fresh on his cheeks, Arthur scowled at the bottle and picked it up, only to throw it with all his might at the nearest tree.  
  
The image of the bottle shattering, the contents splashing onto the ground along with the tinkling of glass shards, helped Arthur calm down a bit. The act, however, only succeeded in reminding him that this violent streak of his went far deeper than he'd ever thought and he quickly donned his coat before heading in the direction of his father's manor, trying with all his might to push the events of the previous night from his mind.  
  
x o x

Arthur had never imagined his absence would cause as much of an uproar in the manor as it had. When he walked into the garden he'd left the previous night, through the rows of neatly trimmed foliage and up to the elaborate back doors of the large salon, it was to the frantic voice of one of the maids.  
  
“Master Arthur has returned!” she yelled quickly, picking up her skirts as she rushed toward him. “Master Arthur!” she repeated, quieter now that she was before him but still sounding like a thousand screeching birds to Arthur's sensitive head. She reached her hands out to touch his arm in concern and he shrugged the hand off weakly.  
  
“Are you hurt?” she asked worriedly, taking the refusal in stride and looking him over. “Where have you been? The whole manor has been looking for you!”  
  
“I apologize,” Arthur said in a tone of voice that clearly illustrated the exhausted feeling he'd woken up with had not abated with time. His head was still pounding and had steadily crept into his neck, making his muscles seize up if he turned his head wrong. “I did not mean to frighten anyone.”  
  
“Your father will be relieved to see you,” the maid continued, taking his arm and leading him through the salon doors and toward his father's study.   
  
Arthur was unsure his father would be entirely happy to see his son return in such a state after being gone all night, but he was too tired to protest as she led him down the hallway.   
  
“Arthur!” his father called in his booming voice and Arthur winced as the sound hit his ears, watched as his vision got dangerously dark for a moment. “Call off the hunt, Maddie! Where on earth have ye been, boy!?”  
  
“Forgive me, father,” Arthur murmured. “I'm afraid I had too much to drink last night.”  
  
“Hah!” his father barked, hitting him on the shoulder with enough force to stagger him. “I'll bet! Where did ye end up, then?”  
  
“In the garden,” Arthur answered, hoping they hadn't done too extensive of a search there.  
  
“The garden?” his father asked, a broad smile on his face. “Did ye have company, boy?”  
  
Arthur flushed a bright red but shook his head slightly before murmuring an embarrassed, “No.”  
  
His father laughed and Arthur was unsure whether or not the man believed him. Nonetheless, he seemed to buy his explanation and thumped his son on the shoulder once more.  
  
“Perhaps ye should go back to bed, boy,” his father suggested. “Ye look like hell's warmed over, ye do.”  
  
“Ah,” Arthur murmured, agreeing wholeheartedly.  
  
He made his way to his room, which was thankfully not too far away. His body still ached and he had tried his absolute hardest to mask the limp in his step as he walked through the manor, focusing on just making it to his bed before he collapsed. When he made it, he shut the door and locked it, then tumbled into his bed fully clothed, burying his face in his pillow as his tears started anew. His head pounded to the rhythm of his heart, loud and unrelenting in his ears, and his body shook as he tried to calm himself once more.  
  
Eventually exhaustion won out and, tear tracks still fresh on his cheeks, Arthur fell into slumber once more.   
  
x o x  
  
Over the next week and a half, it was only the truly inattentive members of the household that didn't realize there was something wrong with Arthur. For the first week, he'd been bed ridden with exhaustion, sore muscles, an inability to stomach his meals and an annoying tendency to get worked up over the smallest things. His father had almost sent for a doctor, but Arthur, in one of his less painful moments, had managed to convince him it was just a virus and that he'd be back to normal in no time. He eventually did recover, though it took a painfully long week to manage it and his manner was no better off for his returned physical health.  
  
Though he had never really been known for having a bright or overly cheerful demeanor, he certainly had never made a habit of staying in his room for half the day or snapping at anyone who attempted to cheer him up. The maids had, on more than one occasion, had to leave his meal outside his door when he refused to come to dinner or answer his door.   
  
His father, of course, was sure he knew the reason for his son's moping, and to his credit, he was half right. It was indeed a result of the happenings of the night of his masquerade party, but it was certainly _not_ because Arthur had been abandoned by whatever female company his father was sure he'd brought with him to the garden. The maids were also convinced that Arthur had been, for lack of a better word, _dumped_ by one of the mysterious court ladies. They also worried for his health and made it no secret that something should be done to cheer their young master up.  
  
Arthur's father, epitome of perception that he was, decided another party was needed to lift his son's spirits, give him another change at love and generally make merry, something he was quite fond of regardless of the reasonings behind it. And besides that, his friend Pierre Bonnefoy and his son were still vacationing nearby and he did so love French wine.  
  
Which is how Arthur found himself dragged to yet another masquerade party, completely against his will, by his father's insistence that he forget his woes and enjoy himself _(but not too much, don't want a repeat of last time, ohoho)_. His shoulder still stung from the smack that joke had accompanied.   
  
This particular masquerade did not have the added requirement of a costume, so most of the lords and ladies invited came wearing an elaborately and often feathered mask along with their newest and best formal attire. The ladies floated around the room in gowns and dresses accented in much lace and frills, cut in just the right way to show off slight curves as they twirled on the dance floor. Many of them held dainty fans to their chests or fanned themselves delicately during conversation, blushing prettily behind them when the men told a particularly scandalous joke. The men, for their parts, behaved in a thoroughly charming manner, wooing the ladies with ease as they regaled them with stories of bravery, cleverness, or whatever sort of outstanding character trait that impressed the court ladies of late.   
  
  
Arthur found it all rather deplorable. And not just because he failed horribly whenever he tried to impress a member of the opposite sex, on the rare occasion that he actually tried, but because a great many of the women in attendance had set their sights on him. He didn't know whether or not to blame his father for this, the man had absolutely no qualms about interfering in his son's love life, but felt it was likely a good bet the man had had something to do with it.   
  
As he was fending off, in the most polite way he could of course, yet another young woman, he caught sight of a man that was quickly becoming an unwelcome presence in his father's home. He almost wished he hadn't been so insistent that he was not interested in, what was her name? Ah, Evelyn. He almost wished Evelyn hadn't believed him, and just barely restrained himself from reaching out and grabbing her arm as she walked away, willing to put up with her awkward flirting if only she would stay and act as a shield.  
  
“ _Mon petit Angleterre!_ ”  
  
No such luck, it seemed.  
  
“Francis,” Arthur answered lowly, nodded slightly and turning the other way in the hopes that, for once in his life, the frog would pick up on a bloody subtle hint. First time for everything, right?  
  
“And how is my favorite Briton?”  
  
Not today, apparently.   
  
“I'm fine, Francis,” Arthur said, wishing more than anything that the man would just leave him be. But he was French and as he rarely got the chance to, he liked to gloat over victories whenever he could. Arthur supposed the opportunity had been lost at the costume party when Arthur left to spend the night with that insufferable, arrogant, toned, handsome...  
  
Now was not the time to be thinking of _that._  
  
Because Francis interpreted his pink cheeks in _entirely_ the wrong way. He leaned in close, arm looping around Arthur's shoulders as his breath washed over Arthur's cheek.   
  
“ _Angleterre_...” he murmured lowly.  
  
Arthur snorted and pushed the Frenchman's arm off his shoulder abruptly. He took a deliberate step away from Francis and turned to raise a bushy eyebrow at him.   
  
“And where is your new sweetheart?” he asked, and he truly had not meant the comment to come off as snappish and jealous-sounding. He scowled at himself as he saw a flash of arrogant pleasure flicker across Francis' face before he moved his gaze to the woman in question.  
  
She was standing at the opposite end of the room from them, laughing at a joke being shared between her three companions, all of which were male. Arthur could hear the sarcasm thick in the Frenchman's voice as he said, “She and I had a _disagreement_.”   
  
By which he apparently meant, _I was dumped._  
  
Arthur would never admit to finding pleasure in somebody else's pain, but he allowed a brief smile to pass over his face before burying it with a scowl.  
  
“That's tragic,” Arthur said, and he tried to put as much acidic irony in his tone as he could manage. Francis was dense, though, and it bounced right off him and his one-track mind.  
  
“Which means I'm free now,” he murmured to Arthur, turning to face him as he set his gaze at half mast. Arthur remembered a time, not too long ago, when that look would have sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine. Now, though, all he could think as he looked at Francis was, _Alfred does it better._  
  
Again. Now was _not the time._  
  
“I'm sure you'll enjoy your freedom to the fullest,” Arthur said shortly, then gave the man a strained smile. “If you'll excuse me.”  
  
Arthur didn't wait for an answer, just walked away. He found an empty corner of the room and leaned up against the wall, taking a deep breath as he pushed both Francis and Alfred from his mind. One was a hopeless case, the other so elusive it almost seemed like a dream to him now. He closed his eyes briefly, but they snapped back open when he felt a tap on his arm. For a moment, Arthur's irritation rose to a dangerous level, convinced that if that stupid Frenchman had followed him and was intent on continuing his attempts at wooing Arthur, the Brit was going to have words with him, by which he meant, _things had the potential to get violent._  
  
But then his eyes landed on one of the only courtly women he actually liked, a cousin on his mother's side. She gave him a smile that somehow said she understood everything and Arthur was reminded of how eerily perceptive the girl was. She was one of the only ones who had known about his relationship with Francis, and he imagined she also knew about it's end.   
  
“Aubrey,” he said softly, affection leaking through his tone.  
  
“Arthur,” she said, a wry note twisting his name as she smirked at him. “I fear I have missed out on scandalous court gossip for my absence at your father's Hallows Eve party.”  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes, but gave her a smile. “Not really.”  
  
“Oh, pish,” she told him, turning to watch the couples dancing on the open floor. “You're just painfully unaware of what goes on in court, you wouldn't know gossip if it hit you in the face.”  
  
“Ah,” Arthur murmured. “Too true.”  
  
She turned to him then and touched his shoulder. “Though I am sorry to hear about Francis.”  
  
Arthur suppressed the urge to ask how exactly she'd heard, and instead shook his head. “I'm not.”  
  
Aubrey gave him a look that said she didn't quite believe him, and since Arthur was only half sure himself, he made no move to assure her of his conviction. And because Aubrey had a good deal of intuition, womanly or not, she left it at that.  
  
Had he mentioned why he liked her so much?  
  
“I don't suppose you would do me the honor of a dance, Mr. Kirkland,” she said then, eyebrow raised. “Surely you would not like to disappoint your father.”  
  
“I don't think dancing with someone who used to put bugs down my shirt really counts as active participation in the social life at court,” Arthur muttered wryly. He raised his eyebrow at her devious smile. “But how can I deny such a lovely lady?”  
  
“How indeed?” Aubrey echoed and followed Arthur as he led her out onto the dance floor.   
  
He spun her around in elegant loops and dips through two songs, making small talk and laughing at her odd sense of humor, actually enjoying himself for once in weeks. When the music slowed to a stop, he led her off the dance floor, intent on continuing their conversation, when a well dressed young nobleman stepped up to his cousin's side and held out his hand. He stuttered a little when he asked for a dance and Arthur could tell that Aubrey thought him awfully endearing because of it. He gave her a wink and relinquished her hand to the young man, chuckling to himself when he almost tripped over his own feet in his enthusiasm.  
  
Arthur continued off the floor and toward the set of double doors that led to the room next door, where he could hear the low murmurs of those guests who would rather socialize off the dance floor. he stepped through and off to the side, content and at peace with himself as much as he could probably manage at the moment, as well as completely intent on passing the rest of the night in as much solitude as this party would allow him.  
  
He should have known better.  
  
Francis, it seemed, had not given up. Arthur spotted the man coming toward him and at the risk of offending the Bonnefoy household by being incredibly rude, he ran. He turned on his heal and went back into the previous room, around the outside wall and weaving through the gossiping groups of women when he had to, finally making it to the doorway that led to the deserted hallway. It led further into the manor and, by a more roundabout way, to the gardens, but few of the guests knew his father well enough to warrant an unsupervised tour, so Arthur leaned up against the cool tile of the wall located just beyond the open entryway to the garden and let out a breath in relief.  
  
Which was rather short lived.  
  
“ _Angleterre_ ,” came the singing voice of the man he had been trying to avoid. “If you are so eager to be alone with me, you should have said something. Why,” Francis whispered, “I nearly lost you in the crowd back there.”  
  
“You were meant to,” Arthur said, putting a hand up against Francis' chest and pushing. He managed to put some distance between them, but Francis kept leaning and it was still far too close for Arthur's comfort. “I don't want to talk to you.”  
  
“Just as well,” Francis said in that thick accent of his, lilting his words as he tilted his head. “Talking is only a prelude to loving, _oui_?”  
  
Arthur idly wondered if Francis could turn _anything_ into a pick-up line. He shook his head.  
  
“It's a prelude to nothing,” he argued. “Because that's exactly whats going to happen.”  
  
“Are you playing hard to get, _mon bel homme?_ ” Francis murmured with a smile.  
  
Arthur was trying to think of a way to make his opinion as blunt and unfailingly clear as possible, his anger rising by the minute as the Frenchman refused to acknowledge the fact that Arthur did not enjoy his company, when a brief flicker of confused surprise passed over Francis' face as he leaned back. Arthur only had a moment to wonder why the man had suddenly backed off a step before a pair of arms slid over his shoulders, tugging him back into the warmth of an embrace. He stiffened, mind racing as he tried to think of anyone who would be so brazen, besides Francis.  
  
Arthur could feel the newcomer's breath on his ear as he leaned in close to Arthur's cheek and said, “I think what he's trying to say is... _fuck off_.”  
  
Francis looked just as shocked as Arthur felt, though he was sure it was for entirely different reasons. The Frenchman was clearly trying to come up with an argument, but was apparently not well versed in the art of being offensively candid. Served him right, Arthur thought, for operating on a vocabulary consisting entirely of innuendo.  
  
Arthur, for his part, was trying to work up the courage to turn his head.  
  
“We are trying to have a conversation, _monsieur_ ,” Francis said, only slightly hesitant. “If you would kindly leave us be, I'm sure Arthur will-”  
  
“I'm not going to _kindly_ do anything,” the man said and Arthur felt a thrill race up his spine as the sound of his voice washed over him. There's no way he could be mistaken, he would know that voice anywhere.  
  
“Well,” Francis said, quite put out. “Why don't we ask the sweet _Angleterre, oui?_ ”  
  
There was a moment of silence as both men turned their attention on Arthur and thankfully, he found his voice, though it was a little shakier than he'd have liked.  
  
“A-Alfred?” he asked, turning his head to catch blue eyes.  
  
“The one and only,” the man purred, then, flicking his eyes toward Francis for a brief moment, added, “ _leannan_.”  
  
Arthur could tell that Francis was becoming frustrated with either one or both of them and Arthur quite enjoyed the calm confidence that Alfred exuded in waves as he leaned into him and waited for an answer. He was not exactly happy with either of them at the moment, but he'd been dreaming of Alfred for weeks now, longing for his embrace again, and he found it incredibly difficult to pass up a chance at humiliating Francis, so his decision was fairly easy to make.  
  
“Francis,” Arthur murmured, turning slowly to look him in the eye. Francis' expression mellowed into arrogant victory for a moment before Arthur continued. “I'm afraid I will have to agree with Alfred.”  
  
Francis' smile fell abruptly and he sent a cool glare at the man standing next to Arthur and Arthur could practically feel Alfred's grin as they watched Francis leave the hallway with his wounded dignity trailing behind. A long moment passed in silence, almost as if they were waiting for the Frenchman to return with some smarmy comeback, but when nothing happened, Alfred tightened his arms around Arthur and hummed in seeming contentment.  
  
Arthur shrugged Alfred's arms off his shoulders roughly, stepping away from him and turning to peg him with a glare. Alfred looked confused and attempted to reach out to the smaller man but Arthur swept his hand away with a slap before he could touch him.  
  
“Wha-” Alfred began.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked. He was struggling between feeling overwhelmingly glad at seeing Alfred again, and seething at the idea that the man had the balls to show his face after using Arthur as he had.  
  
“Is that a trick question?” Alfred asked uncertainly.   
  
Arthur just glared at him. He knew it was ridiculous, _utterly absurd_ , but all he wanted to do was throw himself at Alfred and beg him not to leave, because Arthur didn't think he could handle being thrown away again. He wanted to press himself to Alfred's side, feel his warmth against him and fall asleep knowing he was there beside him. Arthur _wanted_ him, plain and simple, and he was willing to do almost anything.  
  
But just because he felt like a weepy little girl ready to beg her neglectful lover to stay didn't mean Alfred had to _know_. Just as prevalent as his desire for Alfred to hold him again was his anger at being left in the middle of a forest, naked and alone, with no word from the man in weeks. And it didn't really matter that Arthur had resigned himself to never see Alfred again, he was here now and Arthur would be damned if he didn't get to vent a little anger.  
  
“You-!” Arthur started, but he could tell that there were tears standing in his eyes, ready to fall at any given moment. He steamed for a moment, trying to will the tears away. “You left me,” Arthur managed to get out. It wasn't how he'd wanted to start his argument, it wasn't, but it was all his throat could manage at the moment.  
  
Alfred's eyebrows furrowed slightly.  
  
“You _left me_ ,” Arthur repeated. “In the middle of nowhere and-” Arthur sniffed, raising a hand to quickly dash the tears away before taking a fortifying breath. He would do this without crying. He would. “And I was confused and hurt and-”  
  
“Hurt?” Alfred echoed, stepping closer.  
  
“Yes!” Arthur answered intensely, anger boiling over. “I thought you had used me for a night of-” he couldn't finish the thought out loud. “And then I wake up and you're not there and it _hurt_ ,” Arthur continued.  
  
Alfred closed the distance, raised his hands as if to touch, but didn't when Arthur stepped back and looked up at him with liquid eyes. “Arthur, what...” he trailed off and Arthur could tell he was trying to find the right words.  
  
“What hurt?” he finally asked.  
  
Arthur almost punched him. He almost walked away, because he refused to believe that even a mythical creature could be this dense; but Alfred's expression was intense and Arthur frowned before answering.  
  
“Everything,” he said with some heat. “My pride, my heart...” he trailed off, feeling ridiculous all over again for pouring his heart out to a man he'd met little over a week ago. Alfred seemed to relax a little and Arthur averted his gaze. “I was so exhausted, and my body hurt all over and I couldn't – I mean, I've had – you know, before, but it's never been...”  
  
Alfred's frown grew more intense and he leaned down to look Arthur directly in the eye. “You found the bottle I left you?”   
  
Arthur didn't know if it was a statement or a question. “What bottle?”  
  
“The-!” Alfred exhaled harshly. “The bottle! You were supposed to drink it.”  
  
“How the hell am I supposed to know what-” Arthur started before Alfred wrapped him in a tight embrace that, despite his halfhearted struggles, he could not escape.  
  
“Arthur,” Alfred murmured with such intensity that Arthur stopped his struggling altogether and listened intently to the ragged edge barely perceptible in Alfred's breathing. “Arthur.”  
  
“What?” Arthur asked hesitantly, softly, unsure what this raw display of emotion meant.  
  
Alfred pulled back and took his face in his hands, bringing their lips together in a kiss. Arthur, who had thought himself strong enough to withstand Alfred's charms until he'd gotten the true depth of his anger and hurt across, melted. Alfred pulled away and Arthur could see a strange sort of guilt in his expression.  
  
“The bottle, you were supposed to drink it,” Alfred said and as Arthur opened his mouth to protest once more, Alfred shook his head and briefly placed his hand over Arthur's mouth to silence him. “You're human, and the Hunt is not meant for you,” Alfred explained. “The bottle was supposed to help with the aftereffects.”  
  
Arthur was quiet.  
  
“I put it in your coat pocket so you would find it,” Alfred continued, hands drifting down Arthur's neck to rest on his shoulders, fingers digging relaxing circles into muscles that were still knotted and tense. “I thought you knew.”  
  
“How could I?”  
  
Alfred shrugged, hands leaving Arthur's shoulders to run through his hair as his mouth canted in a bit of a goofy smile, so different from the intensity he'd seen during the Hunt. “You're favored by the little ones, I thought that meant you knew about the fae,” he explained. “Usually they don't...” he trailed off, looking at Arthur.  
  
“Why did you leave?” Arthur persisted, knowing he sounded demanding and needy and not caring in the least.   
  
“I had things to take care of, appearances to make, arrangements to put in order,” Alfred explained. “The Hunt is a big event, lots of stuff has to be done before and after. And my father wasn't exactly happy that I'd decided to leave the court.”  
  
Arthur didn't understand what things needed to be done. Hell, he didn't even know what Alfred was, technically, just that he was part of the fairy world. But, he could learn.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Alfred said, bringing Arthur's gaze to meet his with a hand to his chin. “If I had known, I would not have left.”  
  
“Why me?” Arthur asked, needing to know why this was happening, why Alfred had decided to love him instead of kill him, why Arthur himself felt like he'd found some indefinable treasure in that one night they'd spent together.  
  
“Why not?” Alfred asked in return, his mouth slowly curving into a smile. Arthur didn't know what to say to that, so merely huffed in annoyance. Then his brain caught up to what Alfred had said earlier and his eyes widened.  
  
“Your father?” Arthur asked. “Court?”  
  
“Yeah,” Alfred said, raising his arm and offering it to Arthur. “You met him, briefly. He's ruler of the Court of the Wyldfae. Not a very nice guy.”  
  
Arthur slipped his hand through Alfred's arm and they began walking back toward the party. So Alfred was a nobleman like Arthur, beholden to all the responsibilities that came with the title; and even more, if Arthur understood correctly, Alfred's standing in the fairy court was closer to that of a prince. He wasn't exactly sure about how they structured things, but Arthur could imagine the difficulty Alfred might have had in leaving. His heart warmed slightly and did an odd little flip at the thought that Alfred had been telling the truth.  
  
“I'm not sure I understand what that implies,” Arthur murmured, glancing up at Alfred before turning his gaze forward as they reached the entranceway to the parlor. He could see a medley of colors twirling in tandem as the dancers spun around the floor to the music, could hear the soft murmuring of the gossiping ladies off to the side, the clink of crystal and the fluttering of fans.   
  
He felt Alfred's drop his arm and slide his fingers through his and Arthur turned to look at him once more. He was looking ahead though, at the swirling masses beyond, his blue eyes reflecting the myriad of lights that hung from the ceiling, a small smile blooming on his face.  
  
“You will,” Alfred said quietly, and led Arthur into the room.

**Author's Note:**

> -Most of my information regarding the fae, especially the Erlking, comes from reading the Dresden Files, with only a little help from Wikipedia. So go read Jim Butcher!
> 
> -leannan is Gaelic and can refer to the leannansidhe, which is a specific fae that you can google, but it also functions as an endearment, much like 'sweatheart'.


End file.
